


Fallout 4 Kinktober

by NukaDarling



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, F/M, Kinktober, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NukaDarling/pseuds/NukaDarling
Summary: GUYS GUYS IT'S KINKTOBER! 31 nasty, kinky, filthy days of fiction!Nora and Nate had a picture-perfect marriage before the War. They learned together how to survive any obstacle with love, devotion, and a strong hand for striking down insolence.She survives Vault 111 and finds love once again. She's done with being told what to do. She's a survivor, and she can make it better this time. She can make a home.Or... what if he lives? He understands plenty about dominance and what it really means to hold the power, and he's more than happy to educate his raiders as he strikes back against the world that took it all from him.And sometimes? Love is a simple thing that doesn't need the trauma. Two warm hearts, a lot of trust, and maybe some hot wax.A study in "what-ifs" through sexy vignettes.





	1. Impact Play: Nate/Porter Gage

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [albertmarie.tumblr.com](http://albertmarie.tumblr.com/post/165421575252/i-set-up-my-own-kinktober-list) for the prompt list!

(Fits into the universe established in [You Got It, Boss](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9541289) but can be read as a standalone.)

Day 1: Impact Play

 

 

Porter Gage was a patient man. He’d rushed in and fucked it all to hell often enough that he knew the consequences, and having at least a couple of brain cells to rub together, he’d learned to bide his time, to wait and see, and that was all fuckin’ fine and dandy usually.

He found himself… distracted, now, though. 

Hot breath ghosted across his back, drawing out the moment, and Gage squirmed under it-- and was given a sharp tug to his short hair as a result. 

“I told you to be still. Do I need to tie you down?”

“No, Boss.” 

A deep chuckle, a fond stroke of calloused fingers up his reddened ass. “You were doing so well, but you wiggling around like that got me distracted. What am I going to do with you, baby?”

Gage bit his lip and remained still. He hadn’t been given permission to talk.

The Boss seemed to approve. “Guess I have to start over. Keep up this time, will ya?”

That hand again, touching, feeling out the welts of… three, four attempts at this?

Gage shivered. The hand disappeared, then slapped him hard. He bit back a cry-- how could it hurt so much this time?-- and the Boss chuckled sweetly. “Don’t hold yourself back. I want to hear you. Count?”

“One, Boss.” 

“Attaboy.” Those fingers caressed his shaking thighs, aching from holding this position for so long-- bent over the drafting table, legs spread, ass up, just how Nate liked it-- and gave him an affectionate pat. The next blow was soft, but it burned against his oversensitive skin; he fought every instinct he had to pull away from it. “Two,” he gasped, willing himself still.

The Boss planted a soft kiss against his back, scratching raw skin with his stubble. “I’m so proud of you. You take so much from me because you know it makes me happy.” A sudden strike to the ass, and then another one in quick succession. 

“F-four, Boss.” 

A light tap to his hip. “Missed one. I want to hear them all. Let’s try that again.” The same strikes, one after another. 

Gage yelped. “Four and five, sir!”

Nate sighed. “So close. Have I pushed you too hard today, baby?”

His ass ached, his cheeks burned with humiliation, and his neglected dick had been trapped against the table for god knows how long. “I can take it, Boss,” he panted. 

There was a pause, then, “I know you can. You’re so very good for me.” There was a shuffle of clothing, and Gage braced for an impact, but what he got instead was a hot tongue against his hole, eating him out just as forcefully as he’d been struck, and Gage was helpless against it. He bit his forearm to muffle a shout as he came all over the schematics for--- for _something_ , who fuckin’ cared what, and his legs finally gave out against the onslaught. 

Nate was on his feet in an instant, catching the wrecked body before he hit the ground. “Shh, I got you. You tried your best for me.” And with those big, dumb muscles, Nate swept him up into his arms, letting Gage see him for the first time in what felt like hours. 

There was pride on his face. Gage failed to fucking count to ten, and the Overboss still looked pleased. Gage looked away, humiliated, but Nate grabbed his chin and held him where he wanted him while he carried him away to the bed. “I know what you’re thinking, and I want you to stop that. I don’t expect perfection; I expect you to work, and you did. You’re free to talk, baby.”

“...wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he croaked. Nate laughed and squeezed a hand around Gage’s bitten arm. 

“Would you prefer ‘bitch’? ‘Slut’? …’Pumpkin’?” 

“My name is fine. Call me Pumpkin and we’ve got some serious renegotiating to do.” Nate eased them both into bed, and Gage reached for his belt buckle, but his hand was slapped away before he got more than a quick feel of Nate’s stiff dick. “Boss?”

“I’m not done with you. Roll over to your front.” A pause, then, “Porter.” 

Gage shuddered. After everything, that was still too raw. “Uh. Yeah, alright. About the names--”

There was a rustle in the bedside drawer, then Nate settled beside him. “I know, Gage. Don’t feel right for me, either.” 

Gage turned away from him. “...Call me what you like, Boss. I don’t think I know what I want.”

Nate laughed without malice and spread a hand over his lower back, slick with some kind of salve. “I can work with that, baby. How ya feeling?”

Gage closed his eyes and arched into the touch. It was just firm and cool enough to feel delicious. “...Been worse.” 

“Ever been slapped around like this before?” 

“Once. Colter got pissed about something one time and, uh, ‘taught me a lesson.’ Got off on it, I guess, later.” 

The touch paused, then pressed deeper up his spine, working out a sudden tension. “So, no, you got abused. Do you understand the difference?” 

Gage shuddered. “Between you and him? Yeah, no shit.” 

“Between beating your ass for fun and domestic abuse, you brat.”

Gage groaned. “You always wanna talk about this shit.” 

Nate nodded. “Yeah, I do. If you don’t want to, then we stop doing this, ‘cause I’m not going to fuck with someone who doesn’t play by the same rules. If you end up resenting me in bed, we’re gonna have a big fuckin’ problem doin’ business, got it?” 

He pressed himself close to Gage’s side, rubbing his dick against his hip, and murmured, “There’s plenty of volunteers out there if I need to get off, aren’t there? Maybe there’s even some freaks like you who want what I got to give. I want you, but I want this organization to succeed even more. Too many people are depending on us to have our shit together. So, baby, if you don’t like talking about this with me, then I’ll take this to the second-best.” 

Gage turned to face him. “The second-best would ruin you. They’re vultures, Boss.”

“We all are. It’s my job to make sure we’re better together than not.” 

Gage fell quiet, and Nate pulled him close to his chest. He tried not to be predictable, but Nate had the build of a brute, and there was something achingly sweet about all that raw power being used for cuddling. 

His head hurt if he thought on that too much, so he tended to just let it happen and enjoy the ride.

“Want me to do something about that, Boss?” Gage nudged Nate’s cock with his thigh and got a pleased sigh for his efforts. 

“You can suck me off later. I like this for right now.” Nate reached over to a tangle of sheets to drag some covers over Gage. 

He was warm, fucked out, and… safe. 

Y’know, he could get used to this.


	2. Video/Camera: F!SS/Hancock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock might not be an educated man, but he's a wise one. While he couldn't tell you what exactly Nora means when she talks about the 'hubris of man' or whatever, he's pretty sure he could look at himself and get a decent idea of it. 
> 
> It's not his fault he just has so many good ideas, you know? And bangin' the Silver Shroud on the floor of the comic book shop is just maybe the best one yet.
> 
>  
> 
> Fits into the universe established in That Goodneighbor Good Shit.

Blood and glowing green goo and pre-war detritus littered the room, Hancock was huddled on the floor, bleeding profusely from a slash across his back, and Nora was completely over this apocalypse shit.

She'd liked Hubris Comics before the war. She didn't have a ton of time for reading the books in law school, and especially not when she was sweating through eighteen hour shifts at Nuka-World as a wardrobe mistress, but she'd always loved Grognak, and especially Astoundingly Awesome Tales. Nate hadn't had any particular interest in stories like that when his whole life was trying to survive his deployment.

The time they did have together was certainly not spent reading comic books. 

When she could get a moment of reprieve, comics were still too much of a luxury, but she did quite like listening to the Silver Shroud serial on the radio while she worked. 

Nate never even knew that her wedding gown was styled after the Mistress of Mystery, the sweet, clueless angel.

She missed him. To hell with the war, to the Institute, and to radioactive zombie things.

The top floor of Hubris Comics seemed to be some sort of studio. She'd gotten Hancock out of his torn jacket and ruffly blouse to reveal a deep, ugly gash across his back.

“Don't know why you're fussin’,” he rasped. Breathing obviously hurt him. She dropped her pack to hunt for a stimpak, and he grunted a protest.

“Should save that. I'm a ghoul, darlin’. I'm sitting pretty in a puddle of rads right now that'll get me back up soon. Just need… a minute to rest.”

“That doesn't seem like that should work,” she said, frowning, and he shrugged weakly.

“Ain't life grand. You wanna look around? I'll be alright here.”

She knelt down and pressed the lightest kiss to his forehead. This thing between them was young and fragile, but exhilarating-- when she wasn't worried he was going to bleed out on the floor of a comic book shop, anyway. “I'll see what I can find. I think Kent would have loved this place back in the day.” 

It really was surprising that anything worth stealing hadn't been taken already. Props, memorabilia… but then again, what was their worth when there were so few left to care? Nora hefted Grognak’s axe over her shoulder and returned to the studio to strike a pose for Hancock, who was evidently feeling well enough to have sat up for a hit of Jet.

He was strikingly attractive like that, she realized with some surprise, bare-chested and hedonistic, eyeing her up like he was a cat who got the cream.

She found herself blushing. Damn. 

“I'm feelin’ the look, sister. Doesn't that dude wear a lot less, though?” 

Nora laughed and dropped the axe beside him. “I found his loincloth, too, but I didn't pick it up. That would take more Abraxo than there is in all of Boston.”

“Bet the right person would pay his weight in caps for a good sniff of that.” Hancock flashed her a mischievous grin, and she couldn't help returning it. 

“A personal hero of yours?”

He grabbed the handle of the axe and used it for support to heft himself off the ground. “Oh, absolutely. I beat it to that guy all the time in my wayward youth. How about you?”

“...To Grognak? No. I read comics for their intended purposes.” She turned back to rummage through some lockers. Some suits, mostly preserved, ditty bags, hand props, hats…

“And who decides the intention? Content exists to be used by the consumer in any way they find meaningful. Whackin’ your axe to Grognak is just as valid as reading it for the story, or... hell, to use the damn book as kindling when you're cold.” Hancock gathered his torn clothes and spread them on a table, frowning at the damage. “Got any pins or tape or something in there?”

“There's gotta be… yeah, this looks like a sewing kit.” She glanced back at him leaning hard on the table for support. “How about you rest a while and I'll get those fixed up for you?”

“You sew?” At Nora’s sharp look, he quickly amended, “Not that there's anything wrong with that! You just don't… I mean, you build houses and run plumbing and shoot people in the face pretty good. Just surprised at the domestic stuff.”

Nora dumped an armful of clothes on the table. “I’ve had a lot of jobs. Never would have bothered with law if I'd known how useless it would be later. I had to forget law to learn justice.”

Hancock laughed and prowled over to grab her for a kiss, which she returned gladly. “Goddamn, it's like someone made you for me.”

She smiled coyly. “Almost like, huh.”

 

It was getting late, and the comic shop was as fine a shelter as they were going to get. Hancock set up a fire and tinkered with some electronics while Nora mended his clothes. Once she'd started, she felt compelled to correct the rough patches he'd applied himself over the years, and it was no great trouble to find some vodka in Hancock's pack to spritz over the mustier spots. 

Despite the abundance of costume pieces all around them, Hancock remained shirtless through the repairs, and Nora was learning that, yep, she most definitely appreciated that lean torso, mottled with scars and pocks, but nicely muscled. 

She wondered what that skin would feel like under her tongue. Maybe after they'd both had a bath.

A flash caught her attention, and Hancock grinned brightly. “Well, hot damn, this might work. Think I just unbusted a camera.”

Nora snipped a loose thread with a seam ripper. She'd have used her teeth in the past, once upon a time in the land of dental insurance. “Yeah? What are you going to do with it?”

“You found that Shroud suit, right? Bet Kent would love a signed photo of you.”

“...to do what with, exactly?”

Hancock shrugged. “Not my concern. I wouldn't mind one for my personal collection, either. I know a guy who develops film; whaddya say, interested?”

“You know the Shroud is a guy, right? A white one?” 

Hancock shrugged. “I don't think that matters a bit. Think you'll find that stuff like that don't rile people up like it used to. Kent’s lookin’ for a hero, and darlin’, you've been wearing that look for a while now.”

Nora glanced away from him, uncertain what to do with the information. She wasn't trying to be anything to anyone, but if that's what people were thinking… “Two conditions, then. First is that I get a picture of you, and then one with you.”

“You don't get enough of this ugly mug when I'm around?” He laughed and got up to set the camera up on a tripod, fiddling with lighting to try to find some functional instruments. “What else?”

Nora came up behind him and looped her arms around his middle, hands lingering over his rough skin. “I want to wear your coat for one. Just the coat.”

Hancock dropped the lamp to the floor, and they both flinched at the sound of shattered glass. He looked over his shoulder, just barely, and rasped, “I couldn't hardly say no to that, could I?”

 

It took a while to get set up. Hancock found a power source for the room, then set to work cleaning up while Nora found replacement lamps for the lights. 

“You do this in your seamstress studio, too?” He ribbed, and Nora snorted hard. 

“It was a costume shop, but barely. They worked us so hard in Kiddie Kingdom that we had to learn how to do it. The cheap bastards would close the venue down around us if we slipped, and I really needed the job back then.” 

“Sounds like the end of the world wasn't such a bad thing for that place.” 

“...yeah, maybe.” She sighed and adjusted the last light. “Had a lot of friends there, but I guess it didn't matter where my friends were in the end.”

Hancock slid his hands across her hips, posing himself flush to her back. “I want to feel sympathy, but we got you out of it, and I'm selfish like that.”

She pushed back against him, grinding her ass on him shamelessly. “Heh. Fair point. Wanna help me into the Shroud suit?”

He slid a hand up her shirt and nipped at her throat. “If I'm gonna do that, we won't get many photos taken, and you don't seem like the kinda gal who wants to get dirty on a dirty floor.”

She shuddered. “Shame you feel that way. I'm obviously being too dainty with you.”

Hancock laughed and nuzzled her throat, then suddenly sucked hard, drawing up a harsh red mark. “Ngh. Gonna get distracted, stop.”

He let go immediately. “Still want to do the photos?”

“Ngh. I suppose. Give me a sec to get changed.” She retreated to a dressing room to change, and Hancock took his spot behind the camera.

He had a passing familiarity with the Silver Shroud from the radio show, but he'd never had the caps or the interest for one of the books, so he didn't have a ton of expectations for what the hero looked like, but as soon as he saw Nora, he knew that nobody else was worth considering. 

“Damn, you're wearin’ that look, huh? It's a good look for you.”

“Yeah, I'm wearing it. Nothing underneath, though.” She popped her hip, flashing some leg from the front of the coat. “Trying not to think about how much dude sweat I'm stewing in. It's kinda itchy without, you know, real clothes.”

Hancock eyed her up for a long moment. At her quizzical look, he grinned brightly. “We were joking about getting a sniff of Grognak, but can you imagine what someone would give for that costume with a photo of you inside, bein’ a tease?”

Nora struck a pose, leaning saucily-- and unsafely-- on a prop machine gun, and Hancock fumbled with the camera for just a moment before snapping a few shots. “You'd sell me out?”

“Mm. I'd rather keep you close. Don't need the caps that bad. Hey, can you tip the hat down-- yeah, like that. You look mysterious.” He snapped a few serious shots, then, “What if you popped a few buttons up top?”

Nora put on a sultry look and took her time with the buttons, sliding the scarf down to cover herself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Fuck, you look good like this. Turn to the side a little? Mm, that's good. Little bit of titty.”

After the flash, Nora pulled the scarf free and held it stretched out in one arm, definitely exposing some skin. 

“How much film do you have left?”

“Huh?” Hancock blinked up, shaken out of a daze. “Uh… shit, not much. What do you want next?”

“Can you make it take photos on a timer? I'd like one with you.”

“Think I could manage that,” he purred. He fiddled with the settings, accidentally blowing a shot in the process, and finally looked back to see Nora waiting by the screen.

Naked. In his coat.

Fuck.

He checked the settings and rushed in to join her. The shots had about three seconds between them, so they managed a few serious poses before it fell into chaos. A chaste arm around her waist turned into a firm handful of ass, then a smooch to the cheek turned into a lick to his ear, and the flash continued to go off unnoticed as Hancock wound up flat on the floor with Nora straddling his hips, riding the heel of his hand to a loud climax right there on the green screen.

The bulb blew later, but the two were a little busy to notice; Nora, sporting fresh needle tracks from the Rad-X, was struggling to swallow his cock while plowing him with a pair of fingers, and he was praying to any god who was listening that he didn't blow down her throat right away, because _goddamn_ if there was any perfect moment ever, this would be it.

 

“...so we found the costume and all these cool props, but, uh, tried to take some pictures and none of them turned out because film doesn't like the exposure of an atom bomb, who knew, but-- oof!” Hancock huffed, assaulted by a tearful hug from Kent.

Nora just smirked, smug as she could be in her fancy new outfit. “Death will come to those who do injustice, Kent Connolly… and I am its Shroud!”


	3. Toys: Nora/Nate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They just have subscription boxes for everything, don't they?

“I don’t get it.” Nate turned the box over in his hands, squinting at the picture. It was, all things considered, equally baffling in that orientation. 

“The idea is that it’s… like a subscription? You pay them for the surprise.” Nora looped her arms around Nate’s back and took the box from his hands. “I, um. I did ask them to surprise us. We have most of the normal things already.”

Nate turned to quirk an eyebrow at her. “Does that say something about us, dearest? ‘Don’t send whips and chains, we’re all set, how about something unusual?’”

She bounced on her toes, and he bent his head down to meet her for a kiss. “I don’t mind it,” she giggled, and he couldn’t help a laugh of his own. 

“Okay, fine, but if we’re using this, I get to wear it.” 

“Deal.” 

 

Most of the box was, indeed, pretty typical. They’d sent lube and flavored condoms, a slim, pretty vibrator, and a cute paddle that cracked pretty nicely and left an imprint of the word CUMSLUT in the skin if you hit it right. The glowing, edible body paint seemed like a terrible idea, and they both agreed to quietly dispose of that one.

The pièce de résistance to the mystery sex toy package, though, was a shiny black mask with a sizeable dildo protruding from the mouth. It wasn’t quite their dynamic, to say the least, but what’s any marriage without some adventure? Besides, Nate only had so much time on leave; they’d both drive themselves batty wondering about it if they didn’t try it, at least. 

They went to the store and bought groceries for dinner. They chopped vegetables and boiled noodles and seared good, local seafood for a perfectly charming date night. After, they put on some music and danced slowly to the tunes, savoring their brief domesticity together. 

Nate shyly pulled his wife in for a kiss, aided by her mile-high heels, and she murmured, “I’m going to fuck myself on your face, sweetheart.” 

 

“Nora?”

She opened her eyes. It was dark all around her, but she was flat and cozy. She closed them again and snuggled deeper against the warm body beside her. “Hmm? Time’sit, Nate?”

Silence, then a soft sigh. “Early. You kicked me. Bad dreams?”

“... don't remember.” Flashes of fire, of pain, of _cold_. Of something… else. She hugged him tight, yawning, and she felt the blankets pull up around her neck. “Mm. Love you.”

Hancock stroked her hair until her breathing evened out, then finally dared to take a breath. That wasn't meant for him, she was disoriented, and he wasn't going to look into it too deeply.

Right.

Not for the first time, Hancock sent a silent thanks to the late Nate. They'd had a life of struggle and love, and it had made Nora into the woman Hancock admired today.

Whoever he was, and wherever people went after death, Hancock hoped he was happy.

There was nothing to feel jealous about anymore.


	4. Frottage: M!SS/Porter Gage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the fuck does he not know what broth is? The world's changed a lot, but c'mon, man, soup is eternal.
> 
> A story about some nasty old men making noodles.

Nate never claimed to be the best cook ever, but being the head of a raider organization as big as his own offered him access to spices and ingredients that were hard to come by in this shitty wasteland, carefully peeled from caravans traveling his roads. He’d supplied his men with a list of luxuries that could replace the toll they charged for protection, and offered incentives to those who could establish good relationships with merchants. 

It was a competitive world out there, and they weren’t the only bunch of roughnecks out there making a dishonest living; they were just the smartest. 

He’d assigned the Operators to manage this leg of the business. They had a keen eye for profit and a dislike of getting their hands dirty. They were the face of the organization, and the Disciples were happy enough to lend some muscle. 

It was delightfully Good Cop, Bad Cop. The two groups couldn’t get along for shit when they were gathered at the park, but they worked well together when they had some room to stretch their legs and do what they do best. 

They both disregarded the Pack, and they returned the sentiment gladly. They worked best without dancing around the strict philosophies of the other two, and a very strong skill for colonizing new territory. They could descend on a settlement like a plague of locusts, have their fun establishing raider rule, and leave the bones for the Operators to manage. 

The Disciples saw dissent quickly and efficiently quieted. Everyone had some caps in their pocket, and Nate had all the luxuries he could ever want. 

The masses were content with some sea salt to throw on hunks of animal haunch; Nate preferred _finesse_. 

It was a damn shame that Gage didn’t have the same taste for it. 

“--no, we’re not eating seaweed-- you use it for the broth, okay?”

“What the fuck is a broth?” Gage scowled down at the vegetables Nate had put him to work chopping. 

“It’s… like salty juice, man. It’s important.”

“Sounds like you mean brothel, and I can’t say I’m real excited to taste that.”

Nate dumped a pair of young mirelurks into a steamer basket and slammed the lid over it more forcefully than he had to. “Troglodyte.” 

Gage stabbed his knife into the cutting board with a growl, scattering mushrooms across the counter. “You-- hey, fuck you, we weren’t all born in the fuckin’ lap of luxury. You oldworlders had every fucking thing you ever wanted, and you left us with the irradiated garbage!” 

Nate turned and swiftly stomped across the kitchen to loom over the smaller man. Gage didn’t flinch, just matched his gaze with equal fire. 

“Do you forget that there was a goddamn war in my time? America had gone to shit long before the atom bomb, you sanctimonious asshole!”

Gage shoved him with surprising force, and Nate stumbled backwards against a counter. “Oh, sure! Insult me more! Have any other four-dollar words you want to throw at me? Hey, how do you say ‘self-righteous cunt’ in your language? You had the fuckin’ American dream and you want to say you had it so rough? Boo-fuckin’-hoo!” 

Nate slugged him. Gage reeled backwards, wiped at his bloodied lip with a bark of laughter, and grabbed a pan behind him to swing at him. 

He caught Gage’s hand in his and kneed him hard in the stomach, and Gage went down like a sack of bricks. Gage went for the knife at his belt, and Nate stepped on his hand with a sickening crunch. 

“I didn’t say you had it easy. You brought this up, you wanted a fight, and you got one. Are you happy?” At Gage’s silence, he continued, ice-cold. 

“I spent half my life crawling through trenches across the world so my country could pretend everything was just fine. I went without food or clean water for days in the heart of red China. I watched my friends die for someone else’s war, and I knew that I could always be next. I was one of the lucky few bastards to ever come home-- is that the dream? That I survived? Do you want me to apologize for that?” 

He squatted down and offered a hand to Gage, who took it with his uncrushed hand, scowling. “Look, Boss, that fuckin’ sucks and all, but you don’t gotta keep insulting me. You did what you had to do to survive, and I did, too-- and my story doesn’t have any fuckin’ seaweed brothel in it because that just don’t exist anymore.”

“Well, I’m bringing it back.” He reached for Gage’s injured hand, and checked it over for damage when he handed it over. 

Nothing broken. Good.

“I’m sorry for… that. I lost control, and you deserve better.” 

Gage blinked up at him, surprised. “Uh. Ain’t never heard an Overboss admit that.” Then after a moment, “Since you fucked up my hand, do I get a pass on chopping shit?”

Nate couldn’t help a laugh. “Yeah, that seems fair. I’ll finish this up. Come back in a couple hours.”

 

Nate was finishing up the noodles when Gage returned. “Shit, Boss, you’re goin’ all out tonight, huh?”

He shrugged. “I had a taste for it. Haven’t had udon since… well, a while. It’s Japanese, but America wasn’t too keen on Asian food while we were fighting with China. Nora never liked it much, so we didn’t make it much after I got home. Can you drop the noodles in that water to boil?” He gestured to the stove.

“Uh. Might be a dumb question, but what’s the difference between Japan and China? I thought… one was in the other one. It used to be Asia.”

Nate sighed. “World has changed, hasn’t it. It’s not important anymore, I guess.”

 

Soups assembled, they had a seat at the dining table like proper gentlemen. Nate was picking at the noodles with chopsticks, and Gage stared with some fascination before taking a spoon to his own. 

The noodles slipped out of the spoon, of course. Nate politely looked away while he struggled to get any of the food into his mouth, and bit back a laugh when he looked back to find Gage spearing the thick noodles with his pocketknife. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever had something like this, Boss. Tastes like the ocean fucked a spicy tree.” He slurped another noodle and speared a chunk of mirelurk, and Nate resisted the thought that Porter Gage was freaking adorable. 

“Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, Gage.” 

The other man shrugged. “Yup.” 

It couldn’t have been too bad. Gage finished his bowl and stole the meat out of Nate’s before the end of the meal, and he found himself too charmed to care much about the impudence. 

After, washing and drying dishes together at the sink, Nate was struck by how normal it felt, elbow to elbow with his right-hand man. 

He didn’t think-- not after Nora, this wasn’t a life he could get used to. Gage worked for him, technically, and they were disposable to each other, not… domestic. 

Nate was stepping so, so far out of line with this. 

He dropped the dish he was washing back into the water and moved behind Gage, holding him still with firm hands on his slim hips. Gage paused, then gently set the dish he was drying on the counter. “Boss?”

Nate leaned in and bit him hard on the neck. Gage grunted and steadied himself with firm arms on the counter. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away if you don’t want this,” he growled, and Gage pushed back to grind his ass on him. 

“Fuckin’ finally. Do your worst, pussy.”

The slap rang out loud. Gage laughed, but the sound died in his throat as Nate shoved him down, shattering the ceramic dishes on the counter on impact. He rubbed himself against him, rough through their leathers, but letting Gage know exactly how turned on he was. 

“You have a smart mouth for an ignorant slut. Makes me wanna give you something to shut you up. Get you on your knees and stuff my fat prick down your throat-- yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he reached around to give Gage’s cock a squeeze. 

“Good way to get your dick bit off.” He thrust towards the hand on his junk, groaning as Nate bit his ear. 

“I would end you,” he breathed. “You’d die how you lived-- stuffed full of cock, on your knees. Or maybe I’ll take that ass of yours?” 

It was all talk, of course; they’d had a frank and, at least for Gage, thoroughly uncomfortable discussion about what they expected from this arrangement. Gage had walked in on him getting fucked over the drafting table by a member of the Pack, and it had obviously bothered him until it reached a breaking point. ‘What kind of leader takes it up the ass?’ he’d shouted, and Nate argued right back, ‘One who knows what he likes!’

Porter, it turns out, had taken it plenty of times out of a sense of duty, but had no particular love for it, and getting him to admit that was like pulling teeth. 

Nobody said no to the Overboss.

‘So we won’t do it,’ Nate said, and that was it. 

 

But here and now-- “You couldn’t find where to put it if you tried, pencil-dick. Maybe you’re sayin’ all this shit ‘cause you’re hungry for my prick, huh?”

Nate turned him around and slapped his face. Porter pulled him close with bloodied hands from the broken dishes, grinding their cocks. 

“I don’t think you know what to do with that thing. Why should I bother with you when I’ve got a crew who can get me off?” Gage sucked in a breath, and Nate dug his fingers into his hips, continuing. “Does it still bother you that they’ve had me and you haven’t?”

Gage looked away. “I don’t care what the fuck you do or who you’re doing it with.” 

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Nate sucked a hickey on his throat and reached into his pants, squeezing hard. “I let you get away with a lot, but not that.”

“...Boss. You have men and women lining up to get a taste of you. It’s irresponsible, dangerous, and you’re better than that. Can I get you off better than they can? Yeah, because I’m the best.” Gage looked at him with a piercing gaze. “But you’re the Overboss and you can do what you want, and I’ll be there to drag you out of the shit when you fall on your face.” 

Nate dropped the act for a moment, taking the opportunity to study the other man’s face. Sincerity… fear? And something to him that made his heart ache in his chest. 

Fuck.

“You’re bleeding. I want you to take care of that, then wait for me in my bed so I can suck your cock.” 

Gage met his gaze with steely ferocity, then shoved Nate away and left without another word. 

His shirt was smeared with blood. His dick throbbed.

He was in this way, way too deep.


	5. Humiliation: Nora/Nate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dirty boy comes home from war.
> 
> A brief respite.

Nate knelt with his face to the ground by his army bag, still in uniform, while his wife spread his ass apart, disgust in her voice.

“How can you come home to me like this, darling? Did you even bathe after taking some man’s cock in your dirty hole? I was looking forward to stuffing you full with my biggest cock, but I bet you’d barely even feel it.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Are you? You’ve said that before, but you’re still coming back to me stuffed full of other men’s come. I am your wife, and I thought you were a husband, but you’re just a whore.”

“I am, ma’am.” 

Nora considered him, then kicked his knees apart. The uniform struggled to accommodate the new position, and she saw the reinforced band of his pants digging into his thighs. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute. You look like a big brute, but you’re a little kitten, aren’t you? You’ll just purr for anyone. Maybe I should take you out somewhere-- oh, just like this! I could tie you to the mailbox, wrist to ankle, and you can show that American dream to anyone who walks by. Would you like that, darling?” 

She knelt daintily and cupped his face in her hands, stroking the scruff of his beard. “If you want me to, dear.” 

“Maybe I won’t touch you at all while you’re on leave. You’re obviously getting enough attention without me.”

Nate whimpered and nuzzled her thigh, and she recoiled.

She kicked him with the pointed toe of her polished high heel just hard enough to bruise. 

Nobody would ask. Their neighbors were polite, and war is hell, after all. 

“You made me wait for you, dear, and now you’re going to wait for me until I can stand to look at you. I am going to get lunch with the girls, and maybe do some shopping, and I expect to find you right here when I get back. Do I need to tie you to the radiator again or can I trust you this time?” 

“I’ll be good, Nora.” 

“Excellent!” She pulled him up for a kiss to his cheek, smudging her lipstick with his stubble, and she giggled as she dropped him back down. “Oh, darn, look what you did. I’m running late now, but you can make it up to me later, okay?” 

His body ached, his neglected cock throbbed, but for the first time in months his mind was patient and still, focused only on keeping his breathing calm.

So he’d kneel, and he’d wait, and the roar and his head would quiet just enough to let him feel like he’d come home.


	6. Size Difference: Nate/multiple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Army was a damn good place for Nate to figure out that he had a taste for scrawny little fucks with smart mouths and an open mind.

Two decades in the U.S. Army had taught Nate two very important things; the first was that war never changes. The technology got more expensive, and people learned to kill each other with amazing efficiency, but at the end of the day they were still one group of bastards organized to kill and be killed by another group of bastards, all for the sake of keeping a handful of people fat and happy in the name of patriotism.

It was a rough life, but people could get used to anything. Crawling through trenches, shitting themselves to a slow death from the contaminated water, falling asleep standing up if you stood still long enough-- that was just life. 

Nate got close to too many allies, and his heart ached each and every time they lost one, until… it didn't hurt, he realized one day, because he'd stopped caring. He would prefer they lived, sure, because that made his platoon more effective, but men were a commodity, himself included-- used until there was nothing left, then discarded, which led Nate to his second revelation: your survival odds increased when you lose your inhibitions about what people are supposed to be for each other.

Decorated war hero, he was. A real role model. Bright-eyed American Dream. A real glutton for punishment in more ways than his superiors would ever know.

The first time it happened, some new recruit, this pissant city boy, had stepped on his boots and didn't fucking bother to apologize.

Nate had never been a small man. Tall, jacked, not yet grizzled and scarred like he would be by his retirement, but still very much someone that You Do Not Fuck With.

He grabbed the kid’s shoulder and squeezed. 

Kid didn't make a sound, just turned and looked him straight in the eye and moved on-- or tried to. Impressed as he was by the cheek, he had a reputation to uphold.

His squad cheered him as he grabbed the motherfucker and slugged him in the gut, dropping him like a sack of bricks. Kid didn't say a word beyond an 'oof!’ as the air was forced out of him, and Nate felt eyes on the back of his neck as he walked off to deal with the scuff on his boots.

He was out taking a piss against a tree late that night when the kid approached. Nate tensed for a fight, but he stepped right by him to get his dick out.

Now, Nate hadn't spent a lot of time looking at other dicks, but he'd definitely thought about it. This one seemed fine. Thick.

A moment passed, then, “Like what you see?”

Nate shrugged. “It's alright. Figured you'd have one of them over-compensating tools.”

The kid finished and shook off, but made eye contact again as he gave himself a long, slow stroke. “Pretty fuckin’ secure in what I got, buddy.”

He was getting stiff. Fuck.

The kid glanced down, then rubbed at the head of his prick. “I know a bitch when I see one. What if you got down on those knees and sucked it?”

Anyone could come by. Someone would come over if he decked the kid again and someone heard. 

His dick throbbed in his hand.

Words weren't necessary anymore. He pushed the stranger back against the piss-tree and knelt down to examine his unit. 

Smelled like a dick, musky but clean, not much unlike his own. He'd never tasted one.

Hadn't realized how bad he'd wanted to until there was a hand in his hair and it was pushing down his throat, gagging him immediately, but the guy didn't seem to care overly much.

He figured it out before long. The fingers released their death grip in his hair and stroked it, soft and approving, and Nate moaned around the cock in his mouth as he jacked himself faster.

“Gonna come,” the guy growled, and Nate had a split second to decide if he was going to back off or let it happen.

He closed his mouth around the head of his prick and sucked hard. His mouth was flooded with the most vile flavor he'd ever tasted, but the thrill of it went straight to his prick. He spat out the guy’s jizz and beat himself faster, resting his forehead on his thigh, and came right on the scrawny little fuck’s boots.

He got a sharp pull to his hair for it, but Nate couldn't care. Serves him right.

 

He’d messed around some since then-- blowies in the showers late at night, silent handjobs with soldiers while marching through Saudi Arabia-- but the next significant encounter with a man had a different feel altogether. The guy had one of those Nordic names that nobody could ever figure out, Leif-something, so he ended up being Medic Lefty; if there was enough of you left to drag into his tent, you had a fighting chance under his care.

Lefty was soft-spoken, clever as the devil, and perpetually tired from some kind of childhood illness. Nate owed his life to him many times over, but he was humble. Just doing his job, he'd said. 

Nate found him snoozing over a journal one day in the mess hall. Apparently, some groundbreaking research was suggesting that constant exposure to radioactive ions was pretty devastating to human health, who fuckin’ knew. 

Lefty hadn't woken with Nate creeping over him, reading his book; that he took the man’s long-cold coffee for a quick sip went entirely unnoticed. 

He left him in peace. They were deploying to Alaska soon, and they hadn't had a spare moment to rest in the flurry of activity leading up to it. Let their medic enjoy a healthy crew while he could.

 

Anchorage was rough for the unit, many of whom were from warmer climates and were not prepared for an Alaskan winter. 

Nate didn't like it, but he was from New England and adapted well enough. Lefty was from Minnesota; his only complaint was that his work needed dexterity and his fingers got cold without the gloves. 

A stray bullet had caught Nate in the hand, which made him pretty useless at holding a gun on the field for a while, but he was able to work as a dispatcher in the somewhat-heated base of operations while he healed, conveniently close to the medbay for his scheduled medications. 

Weapons kept advancing, but their strategy was still to throw men at the enemy and hope for the best. 

“Why aren’t we keeping up? Instead of wondering how we can shoot them better, how about keeping us safe?”

Whenever Nate saw him lately, his desk was cluttered with rough sketches. A suit of armor, chunky and dense, assisted by some kind of battery… thing… in the back. 

He didn’t think the idea would catch on. There was no energy to spare lately, especially for expendable soldiers, and how would you even hold a weapon in that? But he let Lefty ramble on; describing his ideas seemed to help him organize his thoughts, and Nate enjoyed seeing him so passionate. 

He brought him a coffee as he came for his last pills of the day, just relieved from duty. Lefty’s office was adjacent to a private suite, and the place felt cozy in a way he hadn’t seen since… well, a while. 

Lefty looked up with some surprise at the coffee. Almost more cream than coffee, lightly sweetened. “That’s… perfect, thank you. How did you know?”

“I watch,” Nate said, and Lefty… blushed? 

Oh, very interesting.

“I watch you quite a bit, actually,” And Lefty looked away, busying himself straightening his notes, but Nate could see the hint of a smile hiding on his lips.

“That kind of talk could get your ass kicked around here,” Lefty said, daring a look, and Nate just laughed. 

“I’d like to see them try. Wanna know what I see when I watch you?”

The medic hesitated, then gestured to his quarters. “Not out here.”

Nate followed him into the other room, and Lefty had just shut the door behind them when he reached a hand out behind him, trapping the smaller man between himself and the wall. “I see a someone who’s too damn smart for this war. You’ve got a good heart, better than any other son of a bitch out here, and I never thought I’d be so damn lucky to get shot. I worry that this place is going to ruin you, though.” 

Lefty put his hands against Nate’s chest, and he was sure that he was going to get pushed away, but after a moment he felt a tug. “I… should tell you something. Several somethings.” 

Nate brought a hand to Lefty’s head, daring to stroke at his hair, and the man gasped when he dug his hands in for a tight fistful. 

Fuck, this was a high he could see himself chasing. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m not like-- like other guys you’ve messed around with. I’ve heard the rumors.” Nate froze, and Lefty took the chance to break away from him to stand near his bed. 

“I’m not saying no, but I’m also not someone who... does this, I guess. Casually. Not like these guys,” and there was something broken about his laugh. 

Nate walked slowly, trying not to loom over him, and sat on the bed. “Then help me get to know you. Let’s make this something real.” 

Lefty sucked in a breath. “Anything could happen. This is wildly inappropriate. We--” 

Nate kissed him-- a gesture which was returned eagerly, desperately, clinging tight like a man drowning. He backed off and let Lefty set the pace, all nervous hands and exploring mouths, and he found himself leaning back against the wall while the other man straddled his lap. 

“Gotta tell you something,” he panted, and Nate responded with a firm suck to his throat, just under the collar of his barely undone uniform. “Hnng-- no, seriously.”

“I’m listening,” he sighed against his ear, and Lefty shuddered.

He was tense as a bow string. 

“I’m… not built the same. As other men. As you.” 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Nate asked, and it took a moment to get a tentative nod. “There, that’s what I care about. We’ll figure out the rest.”

The coffee went cold in the office.   
Their… affair, if you will, was cut abruptly short about a month later when Lefty disappeared in the night, leaving everything but his notes on the robot suit. His replacement was a gruff medic pulled from another unit, but kind enough-- said the previous guy had been needed elsewhere. 

Nate helped him clean out the office. If the new guy noticed him pocketing stashes of condoms and the occasional trinket, he said nothing about it. 

The condoms went bad, the trinkets got lost over time, and the memory faded along with the pain. 

What the fuck was the point of getting attached?

 

Fifteen years into his service, he took leave to visit his father in Boston, for all that it mattered. The dementia had made them strangers. 

He had no more family. There was nothing to come home to anymore.

He stopped by Slocum’s Joe on the way to the base to catch a hop back to China, and he was barely paying attention when he bumped into a table, scattering coffee and textbooks. He immediately dropped down to gather the books, and when he looked up, he realized somehow that he was kneeling at the feet of someone who was going to change his life.

And for the first time, Nora smiled down at him.


	7. Creampie: F!SS/Porter Gage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The great thing about the Overboss? She takes what she wants. 
> 
> A gratuitious story about unprotected hard fuckin', part 1 of 3.

By the time Nuka-World had seen two years under the new Overboss, pretty much everyone assumed that her right hand man, Porter Gage, was routinely fucking her silly. On the rare occasion that the two were separated, she definitely had some frustrations to work out. Everyone agreed that they were amazingly productive, but the Overboss was a real hardass, and whatever Gage was doing seemed to work out best for everyone. 

Dumbshit raiders could believe what the wanted, Nora grumped. Gage had been away for a fortnight overseeing a new operation in the Commonwealth, and she was doing just fine without him. 

It was her birthday. She’d never told him, she didn’t know his, and she didn’t expect any special treatment, but she was feeling her age. Her lower back ached, only barely soothed by a hot bath that night after a day of honest-to-god scalping with the Pack. 

She could find other people to do this shit. Happy fuckin’ birthday, Nora.

 

Gage returned a few days later, and it was straight to work. Strategy first, a solo debrief before getting the other leaders in to talk shop, and then boots to the ground for some schmoozing with the unwashed masses. She was successful not because she was pleasant, but because she got caps into their pockets and a chance at a better life. She didn’t particularly care for the drama or the scandals of it all, and especially not for the flatterers trying to sweet-talk their way into her favor; she wanted to walk through her land and turn no heads at all because people were _busy_. 

Devoted as ever, Gage followed behind, scribbling notes as she dictated, rarely interrupting with chitchat as he surveyed the raiders. His vigilance had saved their hides before, sniffing out problems before they escalated, and she couldn’t help a wave of… fondness. She wasn’t sentimental, but she could certainly appreciate a good asset when she saw one. 

She’d decided by the time they retired that night. Doors locked, security bots in place, and finally alone together, his stony exterior cracked and a smile crept up to that one handsome eye. “Hey, Boss.”

“Hey, yourself.” She unclipped her armor and beckoned him behind her to remove it from her back. He stripped her dutifully, laying out each piece for inspection and cleaning later, and returned to stand behind her. She nestled wonderfully against his chest, and even as he towered over her, she felt a shift in the energy between them. 

She loved his body, and he loved being needed. She took just as freely as he gave, just as enthusiastically, and he hadn’t denied her anything-- seemed to delight in pleasing her. 

“Get out of all that and get to bed, I wanna see you.” She turned in his arms and gave him an appreciative glance, hands going for his narrow hips. 

“Boss, you can feel me up or I can do what you said. Mixed messages.” He leaned into her touch, pressing their bodies close, and she gave his dick a good squeeze. 

“Want me to stop?” His body language said pretty clearly, no, don’t you dare, but she liked to hear it. He looked torn for a moment, then tentatively said, “I don’t much mind what you do, Boss. I’m right where I want to be.”

Her hands slid up his back, under his harness, and she took a shameless sniff of him. Sweat, rust, cigarettes, maybe a chemical tang of a hasty effort to clean up for her. She pressed her fingers deep into the meat around his spine, and a pained sound escaped him before she pulled away and kissed his chest through a gap in his armor. “Go on, then. I’ll be right there.”

While he trekked to the bed, lighting their sparse candles along the way, Nora took her time heading to the bar and mixing herself a drink. A little whiskey, a little more soda, and for a rare treat, an ice cube from the tiny freezer Gage had presented to her after her first year as the Overboss. 

Gage was on his back, nude but for some socks, skin streaked with grime that she inexplicably wanted to lick off of him. She perched herself on a bar stool across from the bed and took a sip of her drink, hiding a smile as Gage’s dick twitched with interest under her scrutiny. 

“Trouble is, I don’t know what I want to do with you,” she lied. “I could ride your face again and again until I’m done with you. I could suck you until you’re close and tease you until you can’t take it anymore.” His hands went for his dick, eye searching hers for permission, and she smiled. 

Slow strokes, enjoying the show. She set her glass aside and pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in the tight wraps she used to hold her breasts down. They were an inconvenience at the best of times, heavy and overly sensitive to the touch-- a fact which delighted Gage on the rare occasion that she let him play with her tits. 

It felt amazing when he did, all teeth and tongue and a rough touch that drove her wild, but she didn’t like feeling so vulnerable. Gage, bless him, never hounded her for it.

“You could do all that,” he grunted. “Sure have missed you, though, Boss. Was thinking about that sweet ass every night-- pretty much every night? Spent some killin’ dudes, I guess. Other nights? Totally ass.”

Nora giggled and hopped down from her perch, then balanced her drink on his chest. Gage went still, hand clamped tight on his prick, and she gave him a fond stroke. “Keep going. Don’t spill that, though. I don’t want to have to stop to change the sheets.” She unbuttoned her pants as she turned away from him, and when she heard the careful slap of skin, she hooked her thumbs through her belt loops and wiggled out. “This ass?”

“That’s the one,” he panted. “Fuck, Boss…”

“That’s the idea.” She turned back and reclaimed her drink, finishing it in one swallow and setting the glass aside before climbing over him. “I want to ride you. Sound good?”

“Real good,” he groaned, hands going for her hips. She moved one down to her cunt, gasping excitedly when Gage took the subtle fuckin’ hint and spread her open, trapping his dick between her lips with a thumb over her clit. She rocked between his hand and his cock, not quite allowing him to slide inside before she’d move again. 

It was a damn good tease, and on another night she could draw this out for ages, but she had other plans tonight. She canted her hips just right and took him deep and fast, shuddering hard at the feel after _so long_. 

Under her, Gage yelped out, knowing well enough by now that she liked him loud. He grabbed a firm handful of her ass and thrust up, and she generously let him-- this time. 

She’d have to do something about her handsy boy-- but, oh, he was _good_ with them, touching her just right while she rode his dick. She bore down hard and clenched tight around him, biting her lips on a shout as she hit her climax.

Gage was wrecked, but patient, and he shuddered hard when she resumed her pace. “Not gonna last much longer, Boss.”

She took his hand and brought a up to her mouth, tasting herself with a lick. Gage groaned and slammed his head back hard against the bed. One hand went to the base of his cock, squeezing hard. “Not playing, I’m gonna shoot.”

She took a pair of fingers into her mouth, sucking gently. Gage growled and pulled them away, trying to push her away. “Going to _come inside you, Nora_ ”

“I want you to.” 

In an instant, he pushed her _hard_ to her back and collapsed over her, fist working his cock as he came over her belly, mouth open in a pained gasp against her throat. She stroked his hair through it, down to his neck and his back, until she finally felt the tension seep out of his muscles and he melted against her. 

“...Sorry for the violence, but that’s a dangerous game,” he murmured, voice shaking, and Nora kissed his forehead. 

“When do I play games, Gage?”

He rolled away and sat up, eyes wide. “What--”

“I want a baby, and I don’t have a lot of time left for it,” she said, reaching for a towel to scrub at the mess he made on her. 

Gage was quiet for a long moment. “Shit, Boss, I’m not really a parental type.”

“I didn’t ask you to be. Your part in this is pretty easy, actually.” 

He huffed and looked away, shoulders slumping. “But-- _you can’t_.”

“Fucking try me, Porter Gage. I am in charge here and I will do what I want. You don’t have to be a part of it, fine, but I will find somebody else who will.” She honestly hadn’t expected him to resist like this. She got out of bed and stormed off to the wardrobe to find a robe.

A dark look flashed over his face. He’d never said that he was jealous, but he was sulky as hell when other men propositioned her. “Please, Nora--”

“Don’t you _Nora_ me--”

“ _It could kill you._ ” He fell back against the bed, frustrated. When she didn’t respond, he dared a look at her. “I mean… Boss, the odds aren’t good. You’ve seen how many of our gals don’t make it when they get knocked up out here. I… we, Nuka-World needs you, and if something goes wrong, we just don’t have the intrastructure to fix it.” 

Nora sat on the edge of the bed, scrutinizing him. It was rare enough for him to challenge her, and especially to acknowledge their failings as an organization. He was a proud man, after all. 

“I hear what you’re saying, and it’s nothing I haven’t considered, but it’s still my choice.” She leaned against the wall and extended an arm, and after a beat, he fit himself against her side. “Gage, have you considered what happens after me?”

“...’scuse me?”

“For Nuka-World. There’s going to be a point where I get too old to go around bashing skulls. I want someone who can take over.” 

Gage took a deep breath, considering his words, and exhaled slowly. “There’s easier ways to find a successor. Fuck, I found you, didn’t I?”

She nudged him firmly by the neck, and he followed easily, resting his head in her lap while she petted at him. 

She didn’t think she could take eye contact for this.

“I never told you this. Remember how I mentioned I was married a long time ago?” 

“Yeah, and he died.” Gage froze. “Wait… shiiit, did the two of you--”

“We had a baby. This was a very long time ago, Gage. Over 200 years ago. There’s a lot I haven’t told you.”

Silence, then, “You know? I’m not surprised. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s so weird about you for _years_.”

Nora couldn’t help a laugh. Gage always did find a way to surprise her. “It would be a lie to say that’s the only weird thing about me.”

“Maybe so.” Gage sighed against her thigh and rolled to look up at her. “Look, Boss, you’re right. It’s a fucked up thing to do to yourself, but yeah, I don’t get to decide that for you. Just… can I think about it? I don’t think too good with you ridin’ my dick, literally or figuratively.” 

She giggled and gave his rump a pat. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Alright. Hey, either way? We’re good.”

Gage barked a laugh and hopped off the bed to find his clothes. “I’d hope so. Hate to have to kill you now.” 

“Mm, yeah, kinda invested by this point.” 

He lingered by the bed for a moment. “...Yeah, guess we are. Goodnight, Boss.”

 

 

She woke up to hot breath in her ear, rough hands on her thighs, and a stiff poke to her hip. “You want me to fuck a baby into ya, Boss? Couldn’t stop thinking about it last night. You’d be so goddamn hot.”

Nora groaned and pressed back against him, still sleepy. “Mrr?”

Gage huffed a sigh and nipped at her throat. “You’re great at mornings.”

She grunted. 

“Want me to go?” 

She grabbed his hand to keep him close and rubbed her ass against him. “Do it.”

\--maybe more powerful if she hadn’t yawned right after, but if her morning breath offended him, he wasn’t complaining. 

He pulled her robe up and lined himself up, shuddering hard as she pushed herself back against him. 

It wasn’t rough, it wasn’t fast, and it was threatening to break her in ways she hadn’t ever considered. Gage reached a hand around to palm her clit, and she whimpered as it started to get too goddamn real. 

“Still with me, Boss?” He nipped at her earlobe, and fuck, since when did that feel so _good_?

“Y-yeah.” She bucked against his hand, gasping with the effort, and he ground down against her. 

“Last chance to back out. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so… so long, wanted to fuckin’ _own_ you.”

“You’re an idiot,” she groaned. Against her best judgement, it was hot to hear. “You won’t own shit.” 

“Man can dream.” He bit into her neck, sharp and vicious, and she cried out. “Gage, what-- _fuck!_ ” 

He buried himself deep, shuddering hard as he _came inside the Overboss_ , holy shit. He held her tight as he rode it out, dick twitching as wave after wave of bad decisions shot inside her. 

When he tried to pull out, Nora grabbed his hand and pressed herself back against him. “Stay.” 

He huffed a laugh and reached around to rub at her clit. “Sure. You get off on this, don’t you, Boss? Taking it raw. Fuck knows I’ve wanted to get my dick in you from the beginning, but I never thought you’d be so hot for it.” 

She ground into his hand with a growl, clamping tight around his spent prick. “If you’re gonna be like this, I will find someone else to do this. Bet there’s no shortage of men who’d donate for me-- hmm, morning and night, at least.” 

Gage pinched her clit, and she moaned despite herself. “Too late for that. Shot right in you-- and I’m gonna do it again and again until you get what you want.” She arched hard against him, tense, and he murmured, “--and I will murder the next motherfucker who so much as looks at you funny while I’m gettin’ you there.”

The force of her climax was hell on his oversensitive skin, but he worked her through it until she collapsed away from him. 

A trickle of come was leaking out of her. He swept it up with a pair of fingers and worked them back into her, nothing gentle about it this time, until she was arching up hard and screaming out, letting every son of a bitch in Nuka-World know what she was doing. 

He pulled his fingers back, caught her tired gaze, and licked them clean. She chuckled softly and cured towards him, indulging in a rare, cuddly moment. “We’re gonna have to have some words about all that possessive shit.” 

“All talk,” he demurred, reaching to pet her hair with his clean hand. “It’s a lie to say I want to see you with someone else, but… fuck, Boss, I know where I stand. I’m the guy who tells you what you want to hear when you want to feel dirty.” 

She grinned against his chest. “So if I went out there and took thirty dicks and came back here to you…?”

“Suppose I’d be busy cleaning that out of you so you could get something good out of it. Those clowns don’t know how to make you feel good.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, dangerously close to a kiss, but gave her a wet lick instead.

She recoiled, somewhere between horrified and amused. “I take it all back, you’re a terrible influence and it’s an injustice for you to have anything to do with my kid. Hopefully.” 

He stretched on his back, laughing deep and fondly. “I coulda told you I’d make terrible kids. You chose this.” 

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Yeah, I don’t regret it. It’s… I’m not a young woman, Gage, and it’s not likely to be… fast. Or easy. Think you’ll still want this?”

“For as long as it takes, and for as long as you’ll have me.” He stretched an arm in invitation, and she eased herself against his side. “Besides, ain’t no particular trouble to have a gorgeous, talented woman desperate for your cock.” 

“Watch yourself, asshole.” She punctuated it with a yawn.

He hugged her just closer, mind reeling with… excitement? Fear? But oddly comfortable in his own skin for once. 

“Yes, Boss.”


	8. Lingerie: M!SS/Porter Gage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clean undies, dirty boys. 
> 
>  
> 
> TW for misogynistic and homophobic language.

“Hey, Boss?”

Nate looked up from his magazine. _Guns and Bullets_. Nice. “Yeah?”

“I got skills.”

“Yep.”

“I can make things happen.”

“You sure can.”

“I have a good fuckin’ vision for how to make this organization succeed. I _can replace you_.”

“Don’t I know it.” 

Gage dropped a basket to the ground. “I don’t even mind helping you with the little shit. Fuck, I could make someone else do it, even, but I handle your laundry personally.”

Nate glanced over his magazine. “And I’ve said ‘thank you’. You don’t have to do it, you know.” 

“No, it’s fine, just-- I don’t know when you’re bringing women up here to fuck, but tell them to take their damn clothes with them.” At Nate’s confused glance, Gage picked up some lacy pink knickers and launched them across the room like a slingshot. 

Nate caught them and gave them a sniff. “Mmm. Bet you hated washing these, huh? But you did it anyway.”

“I’ll leave them there to rot next time. I don’t clean up after your whores.” 

Nate tucked the panties into his pocket. “They’re mine.”

Gage frowned. “Is this some kinda game? Like a possession thing--”

“I wear them.” 

Gage made a disgusted sound. “Why the fuck. I can get you fuckin’ underwear if you’re out.”

“I like to feel pretty.”

A long moment passed. “You are just unapologetically faggy, ain’tcha, Overboss?”

Nate shrugged and returned to his magazine. “Like you said, you can replace me if I’m not doing a good job. Personally, I don’t see how my private interests have any bearing on my ability to put caps in your pocket. Thanks for handling my laundry, buddy,” he said, sing-song.

Gage stormed out with an audible _ugh_ , even through the slammed door. 

 

It took about a week for Gage to bring it up again, but Nate had suspected he would. The two of them had just finished meeting with the gang leaders about their goals for the week, and the meeting dragged on when William and Dixie leapt at each other’s throat about some imagined offence, and Nisha and Mags struggled to get them under control while Mason just laughed. 

The factions needed some space. It was something to think about later when his brain wasn’t dribbling out of his ears from boredom.

“Hey, Boss. Are you wearing them right now?”

It took him a minute. “What the fuck are you talking about, Gage.”

“The… you know.” Gage looked uncomfortable. “‘Feeling pretty’.”

“Oh, panties?” Nate eased himself out of his chair, aware that his ass had gone numb during the meeting. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He had to take a piss. He was aware of Gage lingering in the doorway, watching as Nate unzipped at a urinal. “Not gonna see anything from over there. Now who’s being a creep?”

Gage joined him, staring shamelessly as Nate manuevered his dick around tight black satin to tuck back in. He sucked in a breath. “Why do you do it really?”

“I told you, because I like it.”

“But… why?” 

Nate turned to wash his hands. “Come find me later and I’ll try to explain.” 

 

 

That night, Gage entered the Fizztop Grille to find Nate sprawled out over the bed, dressed in a women’s robe that didn’t quite cover the flash of satin of panties and… fuck, stockings, too, complete with the clip-on belty things Gage had seen in old-world photos. 

“Like what you see?” Gage looked away, realizing that he’d been staring. 

“Uh. I… don’t know,” he admitted. “Kinda don’t know what to think. You’re dressed like a chick, but you don’t look like one even a little.” 

Nate rolled to his side, and the robe fell open, exposing the curve of his soft cock against his thigh. “I’m not trying to be a woman. I am a man who likes how this feels.” 

Gage approached cautiously. “Like how you take it up the ass for… fun, I guess, right?”

Nate flashed him a soft smile. “Does it make me a woman because I like to get penetrated?” 

Gage squirmed, adjusting his trousers. “Uh, no.” 

“Can I make you feel owned? And safe?”

He nodded. His throat was tight.

“Could I bend over this bed just like this and tell you to fuck me so I feel _real_ good, and still be in charge?”

“...Yeah, Boss.” He hadn’t had the Boss’s ass. Was this how it was finally going to happen? After months of teasing?

“Good. We need to be clear on this, Gage. What gets me off does not define me as a leader, or as a man.” He dropped a hand down to rub at himself through his panties, sighing. 

“So, want to bet you can make me come without taking these off?” 

The possibilities hit Gage like a sack of bricks. “Oh, you’re on, Boss.” 

 

 

He found the panties in the laundry basket later, stiff with spit and dried come, both his and Nate’s. Thoroughly gross. Awful. 

He pocketed them all the same for later… use.


	9. Asphyxiation: Nora/Nate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate and Nora are picture-perfect wartime sweethearts on the outside, but they're suffocating under the act just as much as anyone else in the good ol' US of A.
> 
> Sometimes you gotta fuck it up a few times to know what's really gonna work for you. Hopefully you don't accidentally kill the ones you love while you figure it out.

**Remember, kids! Breathplay can be fun, but it carries risks of injury, brain damage, or death.** If you’re going to participate in it, have clear communication with your partner, establish a way to stop the scene, and have a backup plan if things go wrong. **This story is not a model for safe breathplay, so please don’t try this at home!**

 

They tried dating like normal people for a brief while at the height of the shitshow.

His soldier buddies always speculated about having this kind of life, with a home and a pretty little wife who'd cook their dinners and let themselves be wooed, and this was their rewards for participating in the global pissing contest, should they live.

You can't escape war. There was no pretty little fence waiting for him. He had a week of leave, and he had a girlfriend to meet him at the airport, but who could afford a car? Or even a subway token?

They walked back. She was so tired from the first trip over, miles away from her shitty apartment, but she did it for him, and he felt like he had to try to give her-- the wartime dream, maybe? Normalcy?

They collapsed on her couch, exhausted, too tired to talk. She was crying, and he was too, and when did that start? Why?

He held her close, and she choked out a soft sound against his shirt.

They were together. He’d do better in the morning, but this was going to have to be enough for now. 

 

Nate woke to an empty apartment at some point the next afternoon, jet-lagged as he was. He was surprised that Nora had made it out without waking him, but considering the bone-deep exhaustion that still lingered after a night of bad sleep on a cheap sofa, maybe it wasn’t such a shock. 

He hadn’t bathed in a few days by now, he felt like shit, and he wondered just how badly it would fuck them up if he were to just never return. 

He sighed, feeling his years, and got dressed for a run. It didn’t pay to get sloppy now.

 

What was so fucked up, really, was how normal everything seemed. People strolled the streets without the haunted looks to which he’d grown accustomed from the villagers of China. Carefully cultivated flowers formed neat displays in nice, square little yards, and kids played outside without fear of chemical burns. 

People stopped him four times during his run to thank him for his service, and he fought the rising burn in his throat each time. 

If they knew what he’d done to other human beings, they’d call for his head, but Reds weren’t people, were they? They were _obstacles_ in the world of shiny cars and getting a big ol’ piece of that American dream.

Nate picked some flowers along the way, probably ruining someone’s tableau; he wondered if it was problematic that he kinda enjoyed that. He found a glass at Nora’s place-- a horrendous Nuka-World cup that had seen better days-- and stuck them in it with some water before putting on some coffee and finally retreating for a well-earned shower. 

He’d buy some groceries later and make them a nice dinner, maybe with wine. They could plan out their time together. 

He was fast asleep again by the time she got back from work. She dropped her keys on the counter and helped herself to the cold, burnt coffee in the pot and took a minute to watch him. 

She was so tired, and something was making her eyes water. Not even emotions, she realized; some purple and white weeds were soaking in a cup on the counter, probably shaking pollen everywhere. 

Nora sighed, dumped the flowers in the trash, and tipped some whiskey into her cold coffee as she decided she was done for the day.

 

A knock on the door finally woke him up, startled by the sudden sound, and he was on his feet reaching for his gun before he realized where he was.

Nora laughed at him and soothed the sting to his pride with a touch. “I just ordered some dinner.” 

He blinked at her, waking up some at that. “Oh-- Nora, hey, we can’t-- I’m so sorry, let me cover this--”

“Nate, honey. It’s alright. We can afford it this once.” She nuzzled his scruffy face for a moment, then giggled, “Hey, what if you go brush your teeth, mister death breath.” 

“Subtle. I always liked you for your wily, feminine charms. Such a delicate way with words.”

“I’m a fuckin’ lady.”

He took the terribly subtle hint and left her to scrub his gross teeth while she paid for dinner. His plans for date night were completely ruined, so what was to be done but to ride it out?

He'd do better tomorrow.

 

Except he didn't. He hadn't realized Nora was allergic to shellfish, so the wining and dining planned for the evening turned into Nora getting choked out of her apartment while Nate miserably scrubbed shrimp scampi off of every available surface.

 

He tried the next night to escort Nora out to the cinema after she got home from work. The soonest picture was a cartoon of some kind, which seemed inoffensive enough. He didn’t intend to actually watch the thing, anyway.

They bought a popcorn and a coffee to share. Soda was traditional, but Nora insisted that she'd rather gag on seafood than try to drink the sludge coming out of the Nuka-Cola warehouse. Hand in hand, they took the back row, some playful canoodling on their minds--

\--except who the _fuck_ makes a kids’ movie with machine guns? Nate grabbed Nora and hit the deck, spilling popcorn and hot coffee on his uniform as he covered her from… from…

Absolutely nothing. Brightness flashed in front of him, a flashlight wielded by some trembling teenager, and he worked on controlling his breathing until the smell of blood and powder faded.

“Nate, honey,” Nora whispered, very still beneath him. “You’re with me. You’re home in Boston.”

“Do I need to call someone, sir?” squeaked the kid. 

Nate took a slow, deep breath, then eased himself off of Nora. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby, I’m fine. Wanna get out out of here?”

Nate got to his feet and helped Nora up. On the screen over them, little cartoon caricatures of pigs with buck teeth and coolie hats fumbled ineptly with a bundle of dynamite and blew themselves apart, raining down strips of bacon. 

“Yeah,” he growled. 

“Thank you for your service, sir,” the kid said, and was promptly shushed by someone in the crowd. 

“Go fuck yourself,” he grumped. Nora let out a scandalized gasp and quickly ushered him out of the theatre, but her serious expression cracked into a grin by the time the made it outside. 

Nate tried to return it, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“For what?” She linked their arms and leaned on his shoulder as they walked. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I haven’t done anything right, you mean. You deserve better.” She shot him a sharp look, and he looked away. “No, seriously. I can’t take care of you. I’m not here for you, and I fuck it all up when I am. You can do better than me.”

They walked together to a park bench. Nora sat down and looked up at him. “Nate, take off your jacket. I want to see if you have burns.”

He obediently stripped down to a plain white t-shirt. He turned for her inspection, and she sighed at a damp stain on his back. “Does it hurt?” she asked, pressing into it with gentle fingers, and he shook his head.

“Good. Have a seat.” She gestured to the ground, and after a moment, he sank to his knees beside her. 

“You don’t seem to understand something, darling. I’ve made my choices. You can choose to leave me if you don’t want to be mine anymore, but you do not get to decide that I don’t want you.” She grabbed his chin and urged him forward, forcing him to brace his hands on the ground. 

“Things aren’t easy right now, but they will get better. You will finish your service in the Army and come back for good, and things will be different, but I will still want you exactly as you are.” 

He flinched. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

She stroked his chin with her thumb. “No, but I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“I might always react to things like this.” 

“Okay.”

“...Nora?”

She leaned in to kiss his forehead. “You’re mine, I love you, and no war is going to ever take that away from us. We’ll find a way to help you through it, whether we have a single penny between us or not. I have all I need right here.” 

He shuddered and leaned against her knees. Some nearby teenagers stared at them, agape. “I’ll make this right.” 

“I know you will, baby.”

 

They made it back and fell into her bed properly that night. Nora stripped him down and kissed his skin, tasting coffee and salt, and she held him down and said, “Shh, let me take care of you tonight.” 

It might have been a failed date, but it was a hell of a night. 

 

He woke up to soft kisses on his face and a firm pressure on an overly full bladder. He groaned and shoved at Nora, easily rolling them over so he could pin her instead. “Darlin’, I am going to give you everything you need, but in, like, five minutes.” 

She giggled and ran her fingers through his hair. “Spoilsport. Fine. Take your time, I want to try something.” At his look, she added, “No, not like-- I’m not putting anything up your butt. This time.” 

“Now who’s the spoilsport?” He nipped at her neck and rolled away to attend to things, and returned to find her kneeling on the bed, naked and holding his belt.

 

“Trying to make my pants fall down? Dirty girl.” He reclined back on the bed, and she took up her previous perch on his lap. 

“Yep, you’ll be so embarrassed. That’s been my plan all along.” She rocked against him, grinding lazily on his bare lap. “No, but really. Tell me something. What does it feel like inside your mind lately?”

He took a long moment to watch her, considering. “It’s… busy. Loud. It helps when you’re here, but…”

“But?”

He bit his lip. “...I don’t know. I’m here, but in a million other places, too. I’m trying to do everything right and nothing is working.” 

“Can I try something?” 

“Anything,” he asked, not hesitating a bit. 

“I want to help you focus. You’re going to focus on me, okay?”

“Okay?” 

She looped the belt around his neck. He swallowed. 

“I’m going to pull this tighter. Let me know if it’s too much. If you touch me, I’ll stop-- otherwise, I’m going to take care of you.” She pulled the end of the belt through the ring until the leather rested lightly against his skin. “Is this okay?”

Nate felt the universe crashing down around him, a cacophony of tension that raced along his body, screaming. _Thank you for your service,_ it seemed to say. 

He closed his eyes. Nora tapped his cheek. “Stay with me. Color?”

“Green,” he murmured. _Green for go ahead and wreck me._

She pulled it tighter, and the prongs of the buckle clicked into the holes of the leather. “You look good like this. You tried so many sweet things this week, but all I've ever wanted from you is just… well, you. This. Your trust. You're so vulnerable right now, even though you're so strong, and Nate… oh, Nate, I love how you trust me.”

Another pull, and a tiny gasp escaped him. He reached for her hips, reconsidered, and put his hands flat on the bed for leverage to push his hips up to grind back against her.

“You remembered! Can you breathe?”

A soft, choked sound. “...yes.”

She shivered. This kind of control was _intoxicating_. She toyed with the strap, tugging ever so lightly, but not enough to lock the belt any tighter. His prick was starting to swell, bumping against her insistently with his squirming, and she gave him a swat.

“You calm down and let me do the work, baby. One of us has to be careful until we get more rubbers.” She glided herself against the length of his prick, sighing. “It feels good like this, but I know you, sweetness; if you had your way about it, you'd have me anyway. Bet you’d love to fuck me bare.” She lifted herself up and trapped his dick beneath her, achingly close to taking him inside, just teasing the very tip past her labia.

He thrust up seeking more, then she gave him a firm slap across his face and pulled the belt a notch tighter. “Ah, rude! I didn't say you could do that. I'm having second thoughts about letting you have any fun now. I might just touch myself until I'm happy and leave you to fend for yourself. Would you like that?”

He closed his eyes. Nora reached out to tug the impromptu collar. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes remained closed, and his chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths. She grabbed the belt to take it off of him, but the prongs of the buckle had seated in a notch that was too tight for her to release.

“Shit, Nate, shit, fuck, I didn't mean to-- I'm going to get you out of there, baby,” and she hopped off the bed to tug at the belt with more force, and when that didn't work, fumbled at her desk for scissors or a knife or _anything_.

The leather was just too resilient, and he wasn't responding at all. Her heart fell to her stomach as she ran to the phone in the kitchen to call for help.

She had just given her address to emergency services when she noticed Nate shuffle to the doorway, disoriented but free, marked with angry red lines across his throat. 

Nora slammed the phone on the receiver and threw herself at him. “Nate, honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-- it was stuck and… and I…” 

She choked on a sob, and Nate held her close. “It's alright, I'm alright,” he rasped. “Sure you didn't mean it. Uh, not sure what happened exactly.”

“I fucked up,” she whimpered, clinging tight. “Nate, I could have hurt you. I was trying to help and this was the _worst possible thing_ for you.”

“Not the very worst-- I'm still here, aren't I?” He laughed a little, and genuine humor colored his face. “And now we've both ruined a good time this week.”

A furious knock at the door, a jiggled doorknob, and before Nora could respond the door crashed open and a pile of EMTs rushed her apartment.

Nate and Nora stood there, dumbfounded, just as naked as before, staring.

The EMTs stared back. 

Nate scratched his neck.

“Uh. I… take it we aren't needed here anymore. C'mon, lads.” The one who'd kicked in their door looked away. “Try to leave calling 911 for real emergencies, will ya?”

 

“Well, I have no other choice. I can't live with the shame and must die now.” Nora dropped herself across the sofa later that day, resting her head in Nate's lap, and he chuckled and pet her hair.

“That's a little extreme, babe. If you die now, I'll have to call them back here, but they won't recognize us with clothes on. It sounds really terribly awkward, so I'd prefer you just. You know. Stay alive with me.” His voice was still a bit rough, but some tea with lemon and honey was doing wonders for soothing it, and the harsh red marks had mostly faded.

“I thought it would help, I honestly did. We were having fun.” Nora chewed her lip, looking miserable, and Nate bent to give her a kiss with smiling, honey-flavored lips.

“Weirdly enough, I think it did. Help, I mean.”

“I could have hurt you. I was trying to help you feel _safe_.”

“Nora, chances are strong that I'm not going to survive this war. If it wouldn't be hugely psychologically damaging for you, I'd even prefer to go out like that. It was quiet. Kinda… peaceful.”

Nora sighed and curled up tight against him. “You're not allowed to die. I have plans for you, okay? You're going to finish this tour and come home to me, and we'll figure it out-- if you'll still want me after the attempted murder.”

He laughed and stroked her hair. “Of course I'll still want you. I need to be with someone who's equally terrible at relationships, after all.”

“I should have finished killing you when I had the chance,” she grumped, but there was a smile in her voice.

Maybe they weren't very good at this, but they did make a fine pair of fuckups together.

 

 

(Hey, dudes, thanks for sticking with me so far! Due to some unforeseen circumstances there might be some delays over the next week, but I'll be working to get caught up when I can. It would probably help if I could figure out how to keep 'em short and sweet, right?)


	10. Clothed: Fahrenheit/Magnolia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ain't no business like show business, honeybuns. Magnolia and Fahrenheit find some time backstage to be very... neighborly, let's say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess whose life is the living embodiment of a dumpster fire? Oh, hey, it's me! So yeah, here's a contribution to the Fallout 4 Kinktober from _last year_!

The best thing about The Third Rail, the very heart and soul and blood of the place, was the people. On any given night you could have suits in corners making Arrangements, or the mayor acting a fool with his dates in a not-so-dark corner, or even that tall drink of water from the Sanctuary Hills Minutemen on the cutest gosh darn evenings out with Daisy. 

Those two danced to her music! That’s why she did this, Magnolia thought; what a calling to bring a bit of song into their lives. She’d watched Daisy positively wilt without Hancock around, and the mayor-man himself was a real trainwreck after his lady left him. That handsome scruffy merc in the back room hardly ever cracked a smile, and poor Kent was always in another world altogether. 

While Hancock was out saving the world, sweet Fahrenheit was the only one who seemed to have a bit of spark. She might not have chosen to take over, but authority was a mighty fine look on her. She was always busy with this and that, and she was seeing much less of her these days, but Fahrenheit always spared her some time during her shows on the rare occasion that she made it down to the Rail. Magnolia watched her watching her, watched those short nails pick at the paper on her beer. 

Watched those pretty gray eyes crinkle in a smile when they locked eyes. Oh, she loved that part. 

Fahrenheit was honestly a much better mayor than Hancock, depending on who you asked, but anyone could see the toll it was taking on her. She’d heard somewhere that no man is an island, and gosh, if that wasn’t true around Goodneighbor. Things started looking up when Daisy found herself that beau and became the talk of the town with their Wednesday night swing dancing, and Hancock-- well, the poor thing, he had a rough year, but Fahrenheit was burning bright again.

So bright, even, that it could hurt to look at her too closely. The world was trying to fall apart around them, but Fahrenheit thrived on that. When Hancock left them again on some kind of secret mission, Fahrenheit… well, she burned. 

And burned. 

Only by looking at her for so long did Magnolia realize those bright, bright embers in her soul weren’t the start of something beautiful, not like the last time she took over the town, but more like a campfire wearing itself down at the end of the party. Those pretty eyes didn’t crinkle after Hancock left again.

Fahrenheit was alone. Solitude had suited Magnolia just fine for the longest after… after before, but she felt such an ache for the woman, hearing her pain like a song. 

She finished her set, she settled accounts with Charlie, she took her coat. She had a home here now, thanks to Fahrenheit and all those builders she brought in; small and tidy, but hers. She could go to it anytime.

Fahrenheit hadn’t even touched her beer tonight. Tension kept her stiff as a board over a stack of papers. 

Steeling her nerves, Magnolia crossed the bar to the stool beside her. “Is this seat taken, sugar?”

 

This could have been a story about two lonely souls crossing paths at just the right time. If she had to say it in a song, Fahrenheit might have been a real cool cat, a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of man worth crooning about, something to get the heat rising for her crowd.

In reality, though, her story was her own, and she kept that close to the chest. It wasn’t anyone’s business what two gals talked about that night over homebrew gin.

If anyone saw the two of them retreat to the office, her makeshift dressing room, and had the nerve to ask her about it, well, honey, she was just being a good, good neighbor.

 

“Oh! Right-- come on, sweet thing, yeah, just like-- just like that, you’re so good at this,” Magnolia panted. She was perched on the counter, just barely, legs wrapped around Fahrenheit while those calloused hands worked their magic on her. 

“You sound good like this,” Fahrenheit laughed. She bent her fingers and buried them deeper inside her, twisting just right to make Magnolia shake. 

They hadn’t even undressed; she’d just pulled Magnolia’s lacy panties aside and went for it. Soft bites adorned her slim throat; on Fahrenheit’s, lipstick. They’d barely crashed into the room before Fahrenheit had lifted her up and claimed her chapped lips for a desperate kiss.

Magnolia was so slick, so needy, trembling like she’d never felt something so deeply. “Wh- _oh!_ \-- where did you learn a thing like this, sweetheart? Didn’t realize you were the type.” 

Fahrenheit laughed breathlessly against her neck. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m figurin’ you’ll tell me if I’m doing something wrong.” 

“Mmm, then you’re a natural.’” She shifted, angling herself just so. “Ah! There, harder right there-- not faster, just-- _oh_ ,” she gasped, tensing, and Fahrenheit held tight and fucked her harder with her hand, working her through a messy climax.

Wetness dripped across her palm even as Magnolia clamped like a vice around her, eyes wide in shock. 

“Oh… oh, honey, yes,” she finally said, slumping back against the counter. Fahrenheit eased her hand back and rubbed her fingers together, all too pleased with herself. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t know I could do that,” she admitted, cheeks stained with a blush. “This… synth body and all. Figured real gals got something out of it with boys that they forgot to build for me.”

Fahrenheit helped her down from the counter and searched the room for a towel. Magnolia’s slinky red dress-- well, that was probably ruined for the night, but it seemed polite all the same.

“I think you're built just right,” she replied. A drawer in the vanity mirror revealed a few sad scraps of fabric; for cleaning makeup brushes, maybe? That wouldn’t work. “It's just like a man not to appreciate you. You're… well, you're incredible, Magnolia. I'm glad you found a home here. I know things have kinda gone to shit lately-- oops, I mean, uh…”

“You can talk however you want, honey. Part of your charm.” Magnolia stretched her arms over her head, joints cracking, unconcerned with her bare skin and slick thighs and perfect breasts pulling up pert and attentive... 

Fahrenheit grinned self-consciously, suddenly shy. “You think I’m charming, do you?”

“Mm. Maybe not as smooth as some gentleman I’ve known, I’ll give you that, but I think I like that about you. What are you doing rufflin’ in my drawers, anyway? You’ve already got me outta mine,” she teased, stepping in to box the redhead in at the vanity.

“...I forget.” Fahrenheit sucked in a breath as Magnolia took her hands in her own and guided them to her hips, tracing out the planes of her bare body. She followed the not-so-subtle hint to explore, and Magnolia giggled when she gripped her tight by the hips and pulled her close. “Got distracted. You look tasty.” 

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Heat burned in her gaze, raw desire clear. “I’m nowhere close to done with you.” She took Fahrenheit’s hand and gave her hand a playful lick, then held her gaze while she took her hand back and sucked at the same fingertip. 

Magnolia smiled sweetly and carded a delicate hand through Fahrenheit’s hair, brushing softly before gripping tight. “Hope you’re not in a rush, ‘cause I’d like to show you a little somethin’ about licking pussy, hot stuff.” 

“Think I can make some time for that,” Fahrenheit said, eyes blown wide, as hot and nervous and delicious as she’d expect.

Turns out Magnolia is a good, good teacher, too.


End file.
